


All's Fair

by Kiertorata



Series: Ginny/Pansy Ficlets [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Community: rarepair_shorts, F/F, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:15:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiertorata/pseuds/Kiertorata
Summary: Muggle AU. Ginny and Pansy have developed and perfected a bizarre art of war that baffles their friends but works for them.





	All's Fair

The first thing Pansy noticed when she stepped through the front door was that Ginny wasn’t home. And the second thing she spotted was the fresh bouquet of pansies placed in a vase on the side table. Her eyes narrowed at the sight.

The game, apparently, was on.

She had no idea what Ginny was angry about this time, but she knew that Ginny knew her least favourite flower well enough for the arrangement to be deliberate. Maybe it was just about how Pansy had insisted they watch that stupid cooking show instead of the rerun of Ginny’s favourite show. Or how she had tricked Ginny into giving her a back rub the other night by insinuating that it would lead to something else. (Well, it had led to something else, but by the time she had been thoroughly massaged and coaxed to climax, Pansy had been too relaxed to reciprocate and had promptly fallen asleep.)

Whatever it was, there was no way in hell she was going to ask her girlfriend about it. It was beneath her dignity, and completely disgraceful. Ginny might even think she was going to get an apology! Pansy had never apologized in her life and she wasn’t going to start now.

Now, digging out the information by some slightly questionable means… That was something Pansy was more than willing to do.

With a wave of determination, she grabbed the key to the cellar. After a moment she was back, painstakingly carrying a glaringly pink footstool in her arms. When she and Ginny had moved together, they had compromised on black leather furniture, and Pansy’s “gaudy” and “how can something so expensive look so hideous” ones had been relocated to the cellar. Not anymore.

It took a few more rounds of lugging furniture back and forth, but when she was done, all the black in their living room had been replaced by an audacious shade of pink. Pansy was drenched in sweat and her arms were aching, but she didn’t care. The room screamed Pansy Parkinson, and Ginny was going to hate it.

‘Maybe she’ll tell me what the hell she thinks I should apologize about after she sees this,’ Pansy thought, smirking internally.

When Ginny came home, Pansy was lounging on the pink settee, sipping a mimosa and painting her nails (pink, of course).

“You like it?” she asked, smiling sweetly. “I felt like having a bit of change. I think it goes well with the pansies you got me, darling.”

Ginny didn’t answer. She turned a horrible shade of red and avoiding looking at Pansy’s smirking face, stormed off into the kitchen. The first battle was over and Pansy had won.

 

Despite the grand total of zero words between them in the last three days, the atmosphere in the flat was far from chilly. Pansy had taken to strutting around the flat in the skimpiest lingerie for no apparent reason. This drove Ginny nearly mad and it took all her self-restraint not to jump Pansy every time she passed by her in that infuriating, red thong. She would not give in so easily, however.

She had gotten out the frumpiest Weasley jumper she had hidden in the back of her drawer, one of the few to have evaded Pansy’s ruthless decluttering, and winked at Pansy outrageously every time she left the house in it. Pansy would soon have to say something if only to stop her girlfriend from embarrassing her publicly in her atrocious attire. (Little did Pansy know that she always carried a spare set of clothes in her bag.)

There seemed to be no foreseeable end to this particular war. When Ginny came home from work, she had to endure Pansy eating an entire chocolate macadamia cake – Ginny’s favourite – in front of her without leaving her a crumb. When they went to bed, Ginny would pleasure herself loudly while smirking at the woman next to her who was very obviously only pretending to be asleep.

Pansy’s next move landed when Hermione was over for tea. Ginny was scouting the fridge for something to offer with the fresh scones she had fetched from the bakery down the street.

“Parkinson, that bitch,” Ginny said. “She’s put salt in the marmalade.”

It wasn’t even that creative. The last time they fought, Ginny had eaten the rest of the ice cream in the freezer and left the empty cartons there so that Pansy, in her premenstrual anguish a few days later had suffered a bitter, bitter disappointment. Now that, if something, was revenge.

“Why would she do that?” Hermione said, perplexed.

“Because she knows I’m mad at her and because she knows I’m the only one in the household that eats marmalade. And possibly because I hid her favourite purse this morning,” Ginny said. She frowned once more at the spoilt marmalade before tossing it into the bin. “Sorry Hermione, you’ll have to do with butter.”

“You two are absolutely ridiculous,” Hermione said disapprovingly. “I thought it was just Ron who had a problem with managing his emotions, but it appears to be a genetic trait.”

“Hey!” Ginny said. “Don’t you dare throw me in with my brother. I’m the very definition of mature compared to Ron! Besides, the purse thing was pretty clever. Pansy actually had to redo her entire outfit at the last minute because she didn’t want to go to work with mismatched accessories.”

“What’s the issue with Pansy this time?” Hermione said, sighing in her resigned, “dear lord please help, my friends are absolutely useless at sorting their lives out” sort of way.

“I don’t want her mother coming to live with us!” Ginny said. “Even if it’s just for a month. The woman’s insufferable. And absolutely insane! And she hates my guts.”

“You could just talk about it with Pansy instead of resorting to petty fighting,” Hermione said, softer this time.

“Yeah. But if I talk to her, it would mean that I’ve lost,” Ginny said. “And it wouldn’t be half as fun.” She muttered the last part, earning a pointed look from Hermione.

“How long do you think you can keep this up?” Hermione asked, sighing again.

“I don’t know. Last time it was three weeks.”

Ginny knew Hermione meant well, but she wished she would stay out of it. She and Pansy had their own way of dealing with things. Over the years, they had perfected a ritual of avoiding unpleasant conversations, and making an art of petty revenge and eventual amazing make-up sex. Much better than taking responsibility for one’s feelings and behaving like an adult.

Speaking of incredible make-up sex…

“Hello Pansy,” Hermione said. 

Pansy stood in the kitchen doorway wearing a silky, emerald green dressing gown that Ginny was sure covered something indecent and therefore probably captivating. She leaned against the wall in what was probably supposed to be a casual manner, and her lips were twisted into a lazy smile.

“Hello Hermione,” Pansy greeted. She glanced at Ginny. “Hello Ginevra Molly.”

Ginny scowled at her. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Ginevra, now is it? Well at least my name’s classy and dignified, even if it is a little outdated. Your mother named you after a plant,” she said. “Also, whatever is underneath that dressing gown is disturbing and repulsive.”

“You can’t even see what she’s wearing underneath,” Hermione said, but it was as if she had been replaced by air. Ginny was fully focused on Pansy and that insufferable little smile that played on her lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Pansy said, eyes gleaming in challenge.

“Actually, I’d prefer not to—”

“Show us then,” Ginny interrupted Hermione. “God knows you’ve been enough of an insufferable flirt these past few days.”

Pansy toyed with the front of her gown, flashing a bit of pale cleavage before pulling it tighter against her. Ginny let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding and glared at Pansy murderously. Seriously, if her girlfriend didn’t take the fucking thing off soon, Ginny would have to rip it off herself.

“It is very heart-breaking to see you suffering, but I’m afraid I can’t do anything about it,” Pansy said. “I have very important business to conduct. Like eating the lovely cake I bought on the way home. Among other things.”

“Bitch,” Ginny said. “You don’t even have cake. I would have noticed it in the fridge.”

“That’s because it’s fresh from the bakery and I still have it in my bag,” Pansy said. “Guess what kind it is? _Chocolate macadamia._ A lot better than salt-infused marmalade-scones, I should say.”

“Ginny?” Hermione said. “I’m going to let myself out so that you two can sort… whatever this is, out.”

Ginny barely noticed her pick up her half-empty cup and place it in the sink before she slipped out of the kitchen. She glanced at the untouched scones that looked miserable in their little bowl on the table. She vaguely wondered if Pansy had gone to the bakery in her current attire. The thought was both horrifying and incredibly hot. Subconsciously, she licked her lips.

“I might let you have some if you earn it,” Pansy said.

“Oh?” Ginny said, mouth suddenly dry. “And what do I have to do to do that?”

If Pansy was surprised at the sudden turn of the conversation, she didn’t show it. She put on her best negotiation face while toying with the front of her dressing gown.

“Oh, just a few things. Like fuck me all night. And give me a backrub,” Pansy said. “And you have to declare me winner.”

Ginny struggled for the briefest of moments before giving in. 

“Fine,” Ginny said. “But only if you tell your mother to go stay at your sister’s during the renovation.”

“Fine, whatever,” Pansy said. “She was going to go there for half of the time anyway.”

Eyes never leaving Ginny, she let the dressing gown slip to the floor. Ginny had been right: she looked absolutely shameless and ravishing underneath with her see-through, black knickers and no bra. She approached Ginny with deliberate slowness until she was just within her reach. Ginny couldn’t resist her anymore. She pulled Pansy close and brought her lips to her neck, and Pansy’s hands tangled in her hair.

Going without sex for two weeks was almost worth the feeling of slipping her hand inside the silk of Pansy’s knickers and sliding her fingers along the divine wetness again.

“Mother doesn’t hate you, you know,” Pansy said, panting. “Not specifically, at least. I think it’s just the whole lesbian thing. She would probably hate anyone I decided to like.”

“Can we please stop talking about your mother?” Ginny said. “It’s kind of disturbing having my hand down your knickers while having to imagine her face.”

“Best thing you’ve said to me in days,” Pansy said. She lifted her other knee higher to grind herself better against Ginny’s hand.

“It’s the only thing I’ve said to you in days,” Ginny said, grinning.

“Shut up,” Pansy said. “I’m going to come. Aaaaaahhh—!" 

_See that, Hermione?_ There was no need for them to have an awkward, adult conversation or disgracefully apologise to each other when they could deal with things their own way. Ginny grabbed onto Pansy’s hand and directed it between her own legs. It was time she had something other than her own fingers down there for a change.

“You think you’re getting anything while you’re still wearing that hideous jumper?” Pansy said. “It’s already a stretch to kiss you in it.”

“Ugh, you are just insufferable,” Ginny said and pulled off the jumper.

“That’s what relationships are like sometimes. If it’s not what you wanted, then I’m sorry about that darling.”

She was about to pull Ginny into another kiss but Ginny stopped her.

“Oh my god,” she said.

“What?” Pansy said.

“You just said sorry. You just said sorry!” Ginny said, face twisting into a victorious grin.

“I did not!”

“Yes you did!” Ginny said. “I think I could dance right now.”

She twirled around just for the heck of it and planted a kiss on Pansy’s gaping mouth.

“You know what this means?” she said, triumphant. “It means that I won.”

“It means that I’m not talking to you for another two weeks,” Pansy said, lips twisting into a dissatisfied pout.


End file.
